Dean Martin slams his fists down on the desk so forcefully that Derrick and I jump.
"Ms. Ryan, we have the hard evidence. When were you planning to print this article?"
I stare in confusion. He lets out an agitated puff of air as he turns Derrick's monitor around so it's facing me. My jaw drops in disbelief. I'm staring at a file that links to the folder I use for the paper. It's nothing I wrote but the final print layout is reflecting me as the author. My stomach swan dives into the basement as my head begins to spin so fast I think it might roll off. I take a steadying breath to keep my cool. The article is so damaging. It states that the university is receiving money from illegal resources and that various people on the board including the Dean are seeing back end payouts from these sources. The pressure inside my chest coupled with the tears demanding to be set free are close to taking over.
"Dean Martin, I know this doesn't look good but I didn't write that article. I don't know how it got into my folder. I can assure that it wasn't by me," I whisper.
"Are you accusing us of lying Ms. Ryan? Are you attempting to state that we fabricated this evidence?" he asks coldly.
I sink further into my chair. His eyes are full of so much rage that I'm not sure he even hears me when I speak. As far as he's concerned, he has all the tangible proof in the world to nail me to the wall and he's going to do just that.
"No...No Sir, I..."
My voice fades off in despair knowing that my pleas won't matter.
"We've heard enough from you tonight. You can provide no explanation why this is in your folder on a university drive. I'm sure you want us to believe that someone stole your username and manufactured this in your folder. We don't have time for those types of excuses."
Panicking, I begin to ramble before he can further incriminate me into something else.
"Sir, you have to believe me when I say I didn't write that piece let alone set it up to print. I'm the editor of the paper. It's my job to make sure that what we present to the university is based off factual research and resources. Someone is setting me up. The computers are accessible to anyone. It's possible that someone watched me login and wrote down my username and password. Tomorrow's layout for the paper is the only document that should be in there."
Even I can hear the desperation in my voice. I want to scream that what he believes isn't true.
His finger roughly hits the monitor as he snipes, "Is this or is this not your folder?"
"Yes, it is but..." I fade off in a defeat.
My whole body starts to slip into what I assume is the shock that people experience after being in a horrific car accident. He whips the monitor around and keeps his fists clenched.
"There is no but...you have confirmed it's your folder. You have the access and authority to print an article as damaging as this without anyone being the wiser. This is a direct violation of the university code of conduct," he declares before looking at the rest of the board members.
He brings his enraged eyes back to me. "We're processing the disciplinary action for these infractions right now. The overwhelming amount of evidence going against the integrity and conduct of the university cannot be ignored. We will not undermine the necessary punishment by giving you a slap on the wrist. Effective immediately, you are hereby expelled from Eckman University. Your academic transcript will reflect this matter with no eligibility to return."
Derrick lets out a disgusted breath. He clears his throat to argue but the Dean cuts him off with an iced glare. I go numb and the tears start to drip down my face. My body and head shake nonstop. I don't understand how this can be happening to me. I think I hear that I'm no longer a student but my brain is full of fuzz.
I'm still sitting there when Dean Martin dismisses me, "You're excused Ms. Ryan. Please leave the university premises."
Somehow, I shuffle towards the door. As I make my way out, immense pain runs through my entire body making my arms and legs feel like a million pounds. My head is so heavy and hazy. The tightness in my chest feels like it is suffocating me from the inside out. I almost clutch both arms around myself to keep from caving into the overwhelming pain but hold back. I won't give these people the satisfaction of having a complete meltdown in front of them. I force my legs to move to get me to my car. As soon as I'm there, I can call the one person that can help me - Micah. I focus my thoughts on Micah to keep moving forward.
Thinking about him makes me crave to hear his voice. As I approach my car, I dig out my cell to call him. The instant I hear his voice I'll fall to pieces but he'll be there to pick them up. That's all I need right now. I hit his number. It rings a few times before going to his voicemail. Knowing I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown, I climb in my car and speed to our apartment. Maybe he's sleeping and that's why he's not answering. He never ignores my phone calls. I need his soothing voice.
As I pull up, our apartment is pitch black. I exit my car and go into the building. I unlock the front entrance and head to the elevators. Fortunately, it's empty when I get in and hit twelve. Once the doors shut, I let go to the aching sobs. The elevator makes its way to our floor. I step out in a fog and turn right towards our apartment. I open the door and my world crashes again.
Our apartment is a mess. There's stuff thrown everywhere. I don't understand. I can't even think. After taking a more careful assessment of my surroundings, I begin to see everything around me more clearly. I'm staring at an apartment of only my belongings. Then it hits me and it feels like a knife twisting sharply to ensure that every part of me shreds to pieces. He's the one that set me up. He's the only person that has access to my usernames and passwords.
I continue surveying the apartment still unable to believe that his stuff is gone. No, maybe this is a robbery. I might be missing some of my own stuff. I'm trying to convince myself that I'm imagining it. This whole night is a nightmare and I'll wake up any minute now. I pinch myself to prove that theory. I'm only welcomed with more pain and it's physical this time.
I walk in circles like a crazy person. I notice my laptop sitting on the edge of our bed. It's open and exposes what he had gone in there to retrieve. It still doesn't make sense to me but it's clear one way or another that he is involved in what happened to me this evening. Why? My heart and mind beg for answers - for anything - only to hear painful silence.
The masochist in me carries my legs to the closet. Sure enough, all his clothes are gone. We may have had our fights. We didn't always agree about my passion for journalism but it's nothing that would result in this turn of events. Unwilling to stare at the reality in front of me any longer, I go to the kitchen to find the tequila. I grab a tall glass and fill it to the top. I down it in two gulps.
The compression in my chest spreads into my entire body. My heart starts to break. It shatters into a million pieces and falls into the universe. I want to cry but I can't. Instead, I find myself struggling to breathe as my grip on reality starts to separate me from the present. My airway tightens and I start to rasp. My brain starts to shut down. Remembering to breathe is becoming an effort of will on my part. I try putting together a solid thought but everything buzzes along with nothing staying long enough to be coherent. I'm bit by bit detaching from my body. Waves of pain go through me like ice and I begin to feel numb.
I hope to feel something from the alcohol. Even that runs through me without feeling - not even a burn of the throat. I can't comprehend how someone that's supposed to love me could do this to me. He promised to love and protect me forever. I pour another glass and then another and then another until I lose count. The room and reality start to slip from me as my body finally shuts down. I don't feel my knees crash to the floor or slipping into the blackness - welcoming it - wanting to be anywhere but where I am. The last thing I feel is the unbearable pain in my chest. It's pulling me so far down that I don't know if I'll ever see the light of day again. I don't care if I ever do.
I awoke in a panic with my breaths in spurts. I hated when I dreamt about it. My fucking subconscious occasionally betrayed me. It was bad enough living through it the first time. It was even more painful when trapped in it. I had no ability to force myself awake until the end. Every ounce of pain sliced through me leaving an unbearable agony as it did that night.
I ran my hands against my damp tank top before clutching the comforter in despair. The hopelessness resurfaced like an old friend and made the numbness I usually felt the best feeling imaginable. I fell back into my pillows as tears streamed down my cheeks. I hated being this broken and for it to be at the hands of the one person I ever allowed into my heart made it so much worse. I clenched my fists to my side angrily hitting the mattress. I hated Micah so much. My insides twisted in anguish as the fresh pain tore throughout my body. I lay there staring at my ceiling letting the tears pour like a faucet. I couldn't stop them or the pain surging through my chest so I continued to endure it. The weakness and darkness that always accompanied the nightmare consumed me.
I hated this pain. I hated being numb all the time. I hated that my life's ambitions vanished because of him. I hated myself for allowing him into my heart only to have him break it so badly that I barely found the pieces. I'd never be able to put all them back together. The damage was so severe that any attempt to fix them was useless.
I remained awake for hours to force out the pain. Eventually, the pain ceased and the numbness returned and in that time I made my decision. I was taking the offer. Morals and risk be damned. I had nothing left to lose anyway.
I decided to call Harrison first thing in the morning. I had been up since my nightmare and a good two hundred laps around the kitchen island when the sun rose. Thankfully, no one else was up. I continued to pace around until it was socially acceptable to call people. The clock hit eight and I punched in the number to Harrison's office.
"Reynolds," he answered gruffly.
"Hello, Mr. Reynolds. It's Mia Ryan calling you regarding your offer," I replied quickly.
"Yes, Mia. What have you decided?"
"I'll do it. Do you have the contract?"
"I'm pleased to hear your decision. Why don't you come down to the office today to sign it? Please bring your resume. We will take care of that while you are here," Harrison directed.
"I'll be there within the next hour," I responded.
"When you arrive, tell my receptionist to put you through to me immediately."
~
I arrived downtown forty-five minutes after speaking with Harrison. I parked at a meter across the street from building that housed his office. It could have been the city or taking this offer but it exhilarated me. After passing several skyscrapers, I reached the JKK Building. Like its neighbors, it was tall, sleek and demanded your eyes to admire its prestigious appearance. I entered the building going over to the elevators to make the trip up eighty floors to
Inside Out
.
When I exited the elevator, I was standing in front of the main entrance.
It was glass and allowed people to see into it. The center of the suite had two large doors with the magazines name etched in white and black calligraphy. I opened the doors and approached the ultra modern receptionist desk that was in front of me. I never broke eye contact with anyone that looked in my direction. The vibe I was going for was to convey the message that I am strong, confident, and belonged among them. In reality, I was freaking out.
Behind the desk, there were two blonde female receptionists frantically trying to keep up with the ringing phones. I waited patiently for them to acknowledge me. Five minutes passed without acknowledgment making my patience dwindle. I cleared my throat to get their attention since they failed to grasp the fact that the body in front of them needed some help. Blonde number one glared at me for my throat clearing antics.
"I'm here to see Mr. Reynolds. Mia Ryan. He advised to have me put through right away."
She scoffed and made me wait for another five minutes. I wanted to roll my eyes but refrained. She glanced at me with irritation before picking up the phone to call Harrison. After she admitted I had been waiting, she pulled the receiver back due to his irritated voice screaming at her. I stood no chance at withholding my 'I told you so' expression. Her eyes frosted over as she motioned for me to follow her. She gestured to the left for us to continue down the hallway toward a ginormous office that encompassed the entire back wall on that side of the office. We stopped short of the doors where she knocked and waited for permission to enter.
"Yes, come in Isabella. I can't believe you kept Mia waiting," Harrison shouted.
She opened the large wooden door indicating for me to move forward. He was behind his desk multitasking. I walked through the doorway to take in his office. The wall across from me was one large window. The view was breathtaking as it displayed the heart of downtown. The rest of his office was what you would expect of any high class executive. His glass desk was in front of the window. All of his furniture was modern and sophisticated. To me, it projected haughtiness but that probably had more to do with my distrust for the man.
On my way to his desk, I noted the many accolades. He was beyond well respected in the industry. Photographs lined the walls with him posing with many of the biggest names in TV, film, politics, and moguls around the world. I took a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk pulling my resume from my purse. Harrison smiled taking it to scan over. He nodded before sliding the contract my way.
"Here's what you asked for Mia. You can take a few minutes to read it," Harrison directed.